Fanfic: "The Crown of the Summer Court" by Shalott . [Arthur/Merlin, Elve!Merlin] . [N8]
The Crown of the Summer Court by Shalott
First read: 10.04.2009
Second read: 07.07.2009
Third read: 08.12.2010
Fourth read: 11.12.2010
Fifth read: 19.06.2011
Summary: "The king sent me to get you," Merlin said, with a tone that implied strongly that he wasn't rolling his eyes where Arthur could see, but just wait until his back was turned. "He said you're to get changed into formal clothes and meet him in the Great Hall, there's a delegation coming from the Summer Court."
Comments: 25.000 words. The Court of Summer, meaning the elves, show up at Camelot and ask Uther to be allowed to hold a tournment to choose their next king there. Uther can't afford to piss them off since they are all-powerful so he ends up agreeing with some conditions. Only there's a surprise contestant for the throne of the elves: Merlin. And when he needs a champion Arthur jumps into it without a second thought, whatever clever politics he feeds Uther later. The more time Merlin spends around the elves the more his magic grows, especially when he's forced to use it in front of Arthur to dress him for the fight.
I liked it, hell, I loved it, but either Laurell K. Hamilton was copying folklore very closely or Shalott was using her elves in the story and didn't say anything, I kept getting distracted by that and the intensity of the Merlin/Arthur kind of caught me by surprise. Just not ready for crossovers in Merlin just yet. Plus: pretty pictures included.
♥ She raised an eyebrow, merciless. "Oh, so you do care? That's a pity. You've behaved all this while as though you were perfectly happy to send Merlin away and cut him off from everyone he's ever known, all to save the kingdom the yearly cost of a dozen horses and some gold."
Cold and stricken, he stared up at her. Morgana gave him a cool, expectant look back; yielding not at all. Arthur stood up, hands clenching, and said, "Damn you, Morgana-"
"That's not a good way to start, is it?" she said. "Are you ready to listen to me, or not?"
He shut his mouth, his hands tightening. "Fine," he said, clipped and short. "I apologize. I should have listened to you. Now bloody well help me."
"Well, finally," Morgana said. "Gwen, Merlin, we'll be back in a moment," she called across the tent, and said to Arthur, "Come with me, and nod thoughtfully at the appropriate moments."
She led him to the next pavilion over, where Uther was sitting alone, brooding expression fixed on the trees of the grove. Arthur slowed, but Morgana forged ahead right into the tent and beckoned him in impatiently, and as Uther began to say something, she interrupted and without preamble said, "You have to listen to me. You don't want Merlin to win the crown."
Uther paused. "We don't?" he said, dangerously.
"No," Morgana said. "We can't let the elves have him."
"If you imagine he is going to stay here-" Uther began.
"Do neither of you understand what he did there, yesterday, with the oak?" Morgana said. "All elves have some sorcery; that's how the others grew their trees. But the great among them also have special hands of power-over elements sometimes, or in this case-over time itself. Merlin can alter its flow to suit him."
"One sorcery or another, what difference does it make?" Uther snapped. "We can wait for the oaks to grow."
"This isn't about growing a tree a hundred years in a day," Morgana said. "What if he did as much to the wall of an enemy castle?"
Arthur saw that make his father pause, and didn't blame him. Maintaining the walls was an endless struggle: mortar wore away in the rains, ivy and moss ate away brick. A year without attention would bring a dozen leaks and cracks; ten would begin to crumble away the towers and battlements. A hundred years-a hundred years, and there would be little more than ruins left, of the outer fortifications.
"If he could do it with an acorn," Arthur said abruptly, "he could do it with a field of wheat. Sow it, bring it to harvest in five minutes-you could feed an army on the march, with a fraction of the usual supply-"
Morgana nodded. "Now do you understand why they suddenly began to be so friendly to him?" she asked Uther. "This isn't a power that wins challenges. It's a power that wins wars. Even if he loses the crown, the elves will want him to go back with them. They'll never want to leave such a power in a mortal kingdom. They might even want him to win the crown, now, to secure him and his gift for themselves. It's certainly worth a great deal more than what we pay in tribute."
It occurred to Arthur, watching Uther caught struggling between his hatred of magic in two directions, that Morgana was bloody dangerous.
"There," she said, as they left Uther's tent, to go back to Arthur's pavilion. "Now just do try not to do anything special in the grove, and you may actually get out of this without spending the rest of your life alone and moping."
"As if I would ever-" Arthur began, indignantly, and then they came into the tent and Merlin looked up at him and glowed, smiling, and Arthur swallowed hard against the sudden and desperate thump of his heart.
Morgana looked at him. "You were saying?"
"Thank you," Arthur said. "I was saying, thank you."
♥ Merlin's hand was clasped in his, waiting, and Arthur knew that Merlin's choice was already made; had been made long before ever they had climbed this white hill, and would never be unmade while time lasted. Merlin would still love him, still serve him, no matter what Arthur did here in the grove. Arthur remembered flashes distantly, like something from childhood or a story someone had told him-a wizard by his side helping him shape a kingdom, a dear friend and a clear voice in the dark. That was a mortal life waiting, and the choices a mortal king could make. There might be quiet stolen nights, there might be secrets and sweet yearning; but another choice was offered him here, something stranger but no less true.
♥ "Lord Emrys, you are called to the Summer Throne," and bowed to Merlin, before he stepped aside and gestured to the throne.
Merlin didn't move. His hand was locked into Arthur's, and his magic was wrapping small desperate coils around Arthur's wrist, as if they weren't already bound so tight that parting would gut them both to the skin. His eyes were glittering and full of blue and gold and panic, but beneath that Arthur could see an elven king: the one Merlin could become, magic as much a part of him as breathing, time sliding backward and forward at his will, and so far away from anything mortal. So far away from Arthur, and he wanted to ask Merlin to say no, to give the throne away; he wanted to say, stay with me.
It made Arthur hate himself for selfishness-he'd brought Merlin here, pushed him every inch of the way and made both of them drunk on power and magic and shallow victories. Morgana was right: he'd offered up everything that Merlin had, and nothing of his own. If Merlin asked him now, come with me, it would be no more than ordinary justice for Arthur to go. To leave behind everything he had, everything he knew, as he'd asked Merlin to do.
Merlin turned and looked at him. Arthur drew himself straight and tried to be ready, to meet the question with grace. He tried not to look at his father, tried not to think about his oaths; he could see the fault line running straight through his own heart, but he wouldn't make Merlin pay for asking.